Ragnarok Short Stories
by Legna the Sorcerer
Summary: Various oneshots done for practice that have nothing to do with each other. Features a scholar, a minstrel, and sometimes a priest along with other random characters. Personalities are set so this series is done.
1. Versus Magma, or is it Lava?

**Author's Note**: Been a long time since I wrote a story, hm? I decided to start writing stories of my scholar and my friend's minstrel (with another friend's high priest in it sometimes). These are mostly written for practice because I've been tasked with writing something I don't have experience with. . . and I mostly took a break over the summer, so now I'm writing these to get back into the groove of things.

Pretty much all these stories have malexmale to it, whether it be kind of soft, or a bit. . . more. So, read at your own risk. Also, all these stories are oneshots and will be compiled here.

One more thing; I'm participating in NaNoWriMo this year and plan to write a Ragnarok Online-related story, for fun.

Anyway, enjoy the first story, which may or may not be based on partially-true experiences and tendencies.

* * *

><p>The soft fur felt warm in his hands as he grasped and tugged on it.<p>

"Will you please stop for just one moment?" he cried, panting slightly. It was hard enough chasing after this seemingly-hyperactive scholar, trying to keep him alive in the midst of the aggressive, if immobile, monsters. It was even harder to get him to stop.

"But why?" his partner, the scholar, replied. "We're on a roll here. Plus, the faster we finish this, the faster we can get out of here, right?"

"True, but you're going faster than those Arclouze we encountered back in Ant Hell! And those nearly killed us!"

The scholar's partner was a minstrel, player of ballads; essentially a musician.

"Don't worry, we've got this." Despite how often the scholar got hurt, sometimes almost fatally, he never seemed to have any regard for his own health and safety, oftentimes leaving that job to the poor minstrel.

"The last time you said that, we nearly got raped by those Hydras, you especially," the minstrel grumbled.

The scholar tried his best to remember which time that was, since the duo often ran into Hydras and Hydra-lookalikes, such as Penomenas.

"Oh, you mean waaaaay back in the sunken ship?" the scholar offered. "Yeah, that was fun."

"'Fun'? You call 'nearly getting raped to death' fun?" The minstrel shook his guitar at the scholar, who just stared at the waving instrument. "You were the one who seemed to be enjoying it."

"'Cause I was." The scholar then turned around and shot out a set of ten bolts of ice at the molten blob of goo, a Magmaring, which then proceeded to slowly chase after the scholar, who ran as he began to prepare another set of bolts to send at the Magmaring.

The minstrel sighed, both at the scholar's reply and knowing that this could go on forever and a half. So, holding the instrument correctly, the minstrel began to play a tune, adding a bit of an electrical tone to a song normally played with a violin. Or a harp and a bow.

As he played, the surrounding area began to glow a soft blue color as sharp, yet soft lights a blue lighter than the glow began to appear. As they took the shapes of various musical symbols. The minstrel hummed softly to the music that played as the melody rang out.

For awhile, the minstrel was entranced in his own music. Entranced until a certain magic user ran into him, that is. The two fell to the ground with a heavy thud.

"Oh, get off me!" the minstrel yelled. "And didn't I tell you to watch where you're going?" With an effort and a grunt, the minstrel managed to shove the scholar off off of him.

"Being chased, can't talk now!" the scholar responded before he got up and continued running, five gelatinous blobs of magma (or was it lava?) chased after the scholar.

"I told him not to do that." Sighing, the minstrel gave up on the song and pulled out some arrows, then proceeded to chase after the scholar.

_I need to buy more arrows_, the minstrel thought as he ran, his cape flapping in the wind behind him like a flag.

Luckily, the Magmarings weren't terribly fast, so all that was needed to be done was to prepare the attack, and quickly.

Setting an arrow on his guitar, he took aim at one of the Magmarings, and with a little bit of magic, the minstrel shot out nine arrows at the blob, instantly killing it. The scholar had probably weakened it before he was chased by it.

Thinking about it, the scholar probably hit _all_ of them with a ten-bolt Cold Bolt, but if he had enough time to pause long enough to hit a Magmaring with that, then why would he hit one only once?

"He just enjoys this, that son of a masochist," the minstrel grumbled under his breath as he set another arrows onto his guitar.

For a split second, the minstrel considered shooting the Arrow Vulcan at the scholar instead, but he dismissed the thought immediately. Unless in a special castle or area, killing another person was strictly forbidden and, if found out, was punishable by death. Not like the minstrel would want to kill his partner anyway.

So instead, the next three Magmarings were the targets of the powerful Arrow Vulcan, and like the minstrel predicted, they all died from one shot due to the scholar not bothering to finish them off.

Just before the minstrel could finish off the last Magmaring, however, he noticed something bad pop up from the ground; a Drosera.

_Oh crap, no. Why now?_ he thought.

Droseras, an odd, health-absorbing plant, were the scholar's worst enemy. The plants had a very long range, and even if the scholar had gotten far enough to cast a strong spell at it, he usually ended up back within the plant's range. Not only could the plant attack fast, it could attack hard enough to knock the scholar over, thus rendering him helpless to the plant's merciless attacks.

"There's a Drosera!" the minstrel cried out, which actually got the scholar to stop. However, the warning also caused the scholar to start backing up, right into the Magmaring he forgot was chasing him.

Finally caught up to its attacker, the Magmaring lunged at the scholar's leg.

Normally, if it was a regular Poring-type monster, minus the powerful Ghostring and its cousins and the Stapo, it wouldn't have been terribly bad. However, as obvious from its name, the Magmaring was covered in magma. Or lava.

The Magmaring made contact with the scholar, which immediately set his pant leg on fire.

"Ow, hot hot hot!" the scholar cried out as he tried to both run and put out the fire at the same time. Of course, this proved to be not such a good idea as he ran right into range of the Drosera, which began its long-ranged attacks once it sensed a victim.

First things first; the minstrel finished off the Magmaring before it could attack the scholar anymore. Next, he quickly finished off the Drosera, which went down quickly. Finally, the minstrel turned his attention to the scholar, who was now on the ground.

"Okay, get up and let's get out," the minstrel said as he slapped the scholar on the face. However, there was no response.

"Come on, get up." There was a slight tinge of worry in his voice. Hopefully, his partner was just playing.

However, when he did a closer check of the scholar, he noticed the blood that flowed from various wounds, and the burn on his leg.

Officially worried now, the minstrel checked to make sure his partner was still breathing before he picked up the scholar in his arms.

_You're so thin, yet so heavy. Are you carrying shackles on you or something?_ the minstrel thought. He thought he heard the clink of metal in response.

For some reason, the minstrel felt a tinge of apprehension, which caused him to look around. When there was no one to be seen, he let out a small sigh before he began making his way towards Rachel, where the duo was staying as they trained.

After a few mishaps with some Roweens, Gallions and more Droseras, the minstrel finally made it back to Rachel.

It seemed almost like a miracle that he made it back with his partner with almost no harm done. During the entire journey, though, the minstrel was afraid his partner would lose his life. The minstrel even remembered that it wasn't best to move someone who was injured, but what choice did he have? Just pray to Odin that a priest would pass through by chance? He couldn't risk the wait. Besides, the night was falling and most people would be finding shelter at that time.

After trudging up the stairs and entering their rented room, the minstrel set the scholar down on the plush bed. Now the minstrel had to decide which to examine first, the blood wounds or the burns. He decided to settle on checking the burn first, since the blood had stopped flowing.

Before he could even check the burn, the minstrel realized he had to remove the scholar's pants first, something that made the minstrel a little embarrassed about.

Surprisingly, the pants weren't really that burned, which seemed a bit odd. Didn't the Magmaring hit the leg dead-on?

Before he realized what had happened, the minstrel felt a weight slam into him, knocking him onto his back. The weight pressed on top of him, a bit awkwardly, the position just as awkard.

"Wha-" the minstrel started before he realized what had happened.

His partner had tackled him.

"G-Get off me!" the minstrel cried. "I mean. . . Are you all right?"

"I have. . . fire armor on," the scholar responded.

"What?" So the minstrel had worried for nothing?

"But that Drosera wasn't fun," the scholar mumbled, seemingly ready to fall back into unconsciousness.

"W-Wait, please don't faint on me again." The minstrel tried to prop up the scholar so his face could be seen. "How hurt are you?"

"Mm," was the only reply before the scholar seemed to just collapse again. With his voice muffled in the minstrel's clothes, he said something that sounded like, "I'm fine, quit worrying."

"You're so reckless, now get off." The minstrel tried to shove his partner off him, but to no avail. It seemed like the scholar was trying to cling to him. "Will you let go?"

"I dun wanna," the scholar said, in almost a whiny voice. "You're sooooooo warm." He then proceeded to bury his face in the minstrel's hair.

"G-Get off!" the minstrel cried, a bit nervously. What was the scholar doing?

"But. . . I don't want to. I want to. . ." The scholar trailed off as he lifted his head up so he could look at his partner in the eyes. The minstrel's eyes were such a lovely blue color, much like the blue gems the scholar sometimes played with.

As his forehead pressed against the minstrel's, who seemed to be getting a bit flustered now, the scholar whispered something so inaudible, his partner couldn't hear.

And then he kissed him.


	2. A Drink in Jawaii

**Author's Note**: Descriptions are inaccurate because I didn't think to try looking for screenshots. Sorry to those that have actually been here before.

Another story written for practice. Also, I didn't do any research, so please excuse me if a _lot_ of things are inaccurate. However, I did find a place that described some of the drinks you can get in Jawaii. So there's that.

One last thing (I make these notes so long); I'm experimenting with the characters' personalities so please don't be confused about how the scholar and minstrel act in this story, and the next, and so on and so forth.

* * *

><p>It was a nice day out.<p>

The sun was shining, the waves were a crisp, clear turquoise, the sand a pale beige. . .

"Where are we going again?" someone asked. "And where _are_ we, anyway?"

"We're in Jawaii, a famous vacation and honeymoon spot," was the reply.

"Why am I with you two again?" a third person asked.

"I don't care why we're here, it's hot out." The first person took off the furry collar he usually wore around his neck; a fox collar, something that a class known as scholars wore.

"If _you_ think it's hot, imagine how I feel." The second person used his guitar, used only by bards and minstrels and maestros (in this case, a minstrel), to fan himself with. "This isn't exactly a good outfit to wear on a hot day, y'know, but you don't see me complaining, do ya?"

"How about we go inside?" the third person asked, a high priest. "I'm sure it'll be much cooler."

"First one there's a rotten Orc!" the minstrel cried out before he took off sprinting towards one of the buildings located above a tree. All the buildings were located on Jawaii's trees.

As the scholar grumbled about his idiotic friend, the high priest took the time to ask a question. "So, know anything about this place?"

"It's an island situated near Izlude," the scholar answered, happy to take his thoughts away from the minstrel. "It's known as a great place to vacation at, and it's also a honeymoon spot for lovers. I heard there was a small island shaped like a heart within wading distance. There's also various rooms that couples can book to spend time alone in, though I've heard that some of the room-keepers have no problems with letting couples share the room with other couples. . ."

"So, why are we _single_, hot and eligible bachelors, here?" the high priest asked cheerily.

"Don't make me smack you," the scholar grumbled. "And ask our music-playing idiot that, wherever he went." The scholar took a quick look in the direction the minstrel had run off to and almost immediately saw him at the entrance of a building up above the high priest and scholar.

"Up heeeeere!" the minstrel called down, waving his instrument at his friends. "There's a _bar_ up here! And I'm thirsty! C'mon!"

The other two proceeded up the tree with the help of a ladder up to Jawaii's bar.

The bar was a quaint little place. Its floors and walls were made of thin, yet strong boards of white wood, neatly shaped into each so as to prevent any gaps so no one could fall through accidentally. The ceiling was covered with large, palm leaves that were a deep shade of green and blocked the light. In the corners of the room were small lamps lit with candles. The lamps were designed to let out plenty of light, but to prevent the fire from making contact with anything flammable.

The furniture in the bar was designed in a similar fashion as the walls. Both the chairs and tables were made of the same white wood as the floors and ceiling. Scattered on the floor were mats woven out of pale green-and-brown leaves. The counter where one could order drinks was made of a wood colored mahogany, one of two pieces of furniture made of non-white wood in the room. There were some stools situated in front of the counter.

Behind the counter was a large cabinet the same color as the counter. There were various bottles of labeled and unlabeled drinks of various colors, many of them most likely alcoholic. Alcoholic drinks were forbidden in the Rune-Midgard kingdom, but this bar somehow managed to bypass that prohibition.

"About time, you two," the minstrel said, sighing in an exaggerated manner. "Do you know how long I was waiting?"

"Five minutes, you nimrod," the scholar answered.

"It was actually three," the high priest corrected. "And why are we in a bar again?" The high priest seemed a bit nervous to be here.

"I was thirsty," the minstrel answered. "Plus, I heard the drinks are good here."

Turning to the man behind the counter, the minstrel ordered himself a drink. After the exchange of zeny and drink, the minstrel held up his drink to his two friends.

"Only 100 zeny. Pretty cheap, eh?" Then the minstrel downed his drink in one gulp, then gagged.

"Taste bad?" the scholar asked, eying the glass with a bit of disdain.

"Alcohol _burns_," the minstrel managed to say between coughs.

"Some of these drinks have quite a high alcohol content," the man who served the drink said. "Here at the bar, we have a kind of system; pay for a drink, get something random back. You never know what you get."

"Who's 'we'?" the high priest asked amidst the minstrel's subdued coughing.

"I don't work here all the time, y'know," the man answered. "I'm actually only here on the weekends."

"C'mon guys, try some," the minstrel said. He had finally stopped coughing and bought three more drinks, one of which he offered to the scholar, who took it hesitantly.

"This smells. . . sweet," the scholar noted as he took a whiff of his drink.

"I call it the 'Hot Kiss Assault'," the man said. "It's a pretty sweet drink."

"The name, er. . ." The scholar decided to just down the whole drink in one gulp, like the minstrel did.

Immediately, the scholar almost choked on the drink, it was that sweet. It was like a layer of sugar coated the inside of his mouth and tongue, and then there was that buzz in his head.

Groaning a bit, the scholar asked for some water.

"Too strong for you?" The minstrel grinned happily before he downed his drink, a bit more slowly. He held out the third drink to the high priest, who refused it.

"Er, you know I can't drink these." The high priest sat down on a stool.

"Here's another." The minstrel offered another glass to the scholar, after he drank a glass of water.

"T-Thanks." The scholar looked into his drink, slightly wary, slightly dizzy. Maybe he couldn't hold his alcohol too well. And was this drink supposed to look blue?

"Don't drink that one too fast," the man warned. "It's not that it's really dangerous, it's more that it gets better the more sips you take of it."

"Mhm," was the only answer before the scholar took a sip of the blue drink. The scent was quite sweet, but the taste was some sort of sweet-sour that only grew as the scholar took more sips of the drink. The buzzing in his head seemed to grow a bit, however.

"I think I can not hold this well," the scholar mumbled, and shook his head.

"Didn't you tell us you couldn't really hold a drink well?" the high priest asked as he watched his two friends drink.

"Um."

"Hey, try this one!" the minstrel said as he gave the scholar a glass similar to his own; a pale yellow drink with a hint of a lemon scent to it. "Mm."

"How long as you two going to drink?" the high priest asked, but he got no answer as his friends drank a few more drinks.

As the two drank, the scholar tried to think. Where exactly were they again? And was it him, or was the room moving? These drinks were giving him a nice feeling, though, despite that buzzing. Or was that just dizziness? The more he tried to think, the more his dizziness grew, until the scholar decided it was best to just not think at all, not even when his vision seemed to blur slightly, and his memory began to fail on him.

–

All he could remember upon waking up was having a fun time drinking with his friends. Or, well, "friend", since only one drank with him as the other watched, but it was still fun! After all, it was hard to find a good place to drink all those tasty alcoholic drinks due to alcohol being outlawed in Rune-Midgard except for those alchemists and biochemists and geneticists and even then, they were only allowed to keep those just to make some non-drinkable potions and junk. Not fun at all.

"Oi, my head," the minstrel grumbled, though he smiled. He felt a bit chilled on his back, yet his stomach and chest were warm, so warm. . .

"Where'm I?" he asked. "Is this Jawaii?" The minstrel struggled to sit up and look around.

The light that came from the window seemed too bright, causing the minstrel to squint. "Ow ow ow, my head, my eyes."

"Are you awake?" a familiar voice asked from behind the minstrel.

"Huh?" Turning around, the minstrel saw the high priest poking his head through a wooden door.

"You two, um. . . Just. . ." The high priest hesitated, clearly trying to hide some embarrassment.

"Look, just hurry up and get dressed and we can explore the rest of this island or somethin', or we can leave." With that, the high priest shut the door, his grumblings being heard faintly through the door.

"Get. . . dressed?" the minstrel asked in confusion before he looked at himself. Where were his clothes. . .? "Why am I naked?"

A groan next to the minstrel seemed to answer him.

Looking down at his side, the minstrel saw the scholar, hugging a blanket and without any clothes. Like himself.

"Uh?" The minstrel was growing more confused. Were they sharing a bed? And why did neither of them have their clothes on?

He then noticed that their clothes were just lying there on the wooden floor, as if thrown there haphazardly. Then he noticed a very faint, yet odd smell, though the minstrel wasn't sure what that smell was.

"Hey, hey, heyheyhey," the minstrel called as he shook the scholar awake.

Groaning, the scholar turned over and grumbled, "Whaddya want. . ."

"What are we doing in bed together?" the minstrel asked.

"Wha." The scholar was still groggy from sleep, so the minstrel repeated his question.

"I. . . What?" The scholar struggled to sit up, so the minstrel helped him up, slightly aware of the contact the two were making.

"Ngh." Leaning against the minstrel, the scholar struggled against the wave of nausea that washed over him.

"Um." The minstrel glanced around nervously. "Do you remember anything that happened after we drank all those drinks?"

"No." The scholar shook his head a bit before trying to look around the room. "What happened? And where are my clothes? Where are _your_ clothes?"

"On the floor."

"Were you sleeping with me?"

"I think."

Immediately, the scholar climbed out of bed, swaying slightly.

"This is why I don't drink," the scholar grumbled.

"Er, maybe you should raise your tolerance to alcohol?" the minstrel suggested sheepishly as he shifted the covers around, then stopped when he felt something.

"Why are the covers sticky?"

The scholar looked over at the minstrel curiously, before he realized something. Though still foggy, his mind had put together everything that happened.

The alcohol, the lack of memories, the lack of clothes, the fact that he and the minstrel were sleeping together in a bed. . .

It seemed as the minstrel realized what had happened as well for a red hue tinged his face.

"I'm never drinking again," the scholar groaned as he sat back down on the bed and placed his head in his hands.

"But it was f-" the minstrel began before he was interrupted by the scholar.

"Shut up."


	3. Commune with the Spirits

**Author's Note**: This story. . . didn't turn out that well, I'm sorry. But please don't let that bother you too much while reading. I hope you enjoy this story. It's a very very slightly true story.

I became a Sorcerer last night. Yeah.

Also, no one says their name on purpose. Cause I wanted to and because I don't want to reveal the minstrel's and scholar's names yet until I'm sure.

* * *

><p>"Please don't kill yourself in there." The minstrel paused for a second before adding, "Again."<p>

"Since when have I ever killed myself?" the scholar asked.

"Well, you _almost_ have _plenty_ of times," the minstrel grumbled. "And since I can't come in there, I can't watch your back or anything."

"I'll be fine." Before the minstrel could respond, the scholar gave him a quick kiss to his cheek before dashing off into the dark maw of the cave.

"Q-Quit doing that!" the minstrel cried out, flustered.

–

"Dark in here. . ." The scholar squinted, trying to see through the darkness as his vision was readjusting itself, slowly. He was walking on ahead quite slowly, being careful not to step on the tails of the tarous, which were small, white rodents.

Occasionally a familiar, blue vicious but harmless bats, would fly straight for the scholar, but he quickly disposed of them with a quick firewall or two. There were martins, tiny moles with yellow safety helmets, but they preferred to mind their own business instead of worrying about some random person that happened to come along.

The first floor passed by without too many problems. The second floor, however, was a bit of a maze. There were fences that would block the scholar's path, forcing him to go back and take a different path, and even then he would run into even more dead-ends. This quickly deteriorated the scholar's mood, as he didn't like mazes, real-life or on paper.

"Who's bright idea was it to put a damned maze in a mine?" the scholar yelled out to no one in particular.

"The place _was_ closed off due to it being too dangerous, you know," a voice answered in response.

The scholar immediately took his staff out. "Who's there?"

"Please, don't hurt me."

From around a corner, a fuzzy muzzle poked out, soon followed by a large, furry head and its entire body.

"A warg," the scholar noted. "So then, you're. . ."

"Yep." The owner of the warg stepped out from around the corner, following the lupine creature. "I'm a ranger. And from the looks of your outfit, a scholar?"

Said scholar nodded, and added, "I've been asked to commune with some spirits, and I decided to start here. It's part of my test to communicate with the spirits so I may become a sorcerer."

"Good luck," the ranger said. "It sounds easier than what I had to go through to become a ranger." He laid his hand gently on the warg's head and scratched it behind its ears. The warg wagged its tail in response.

"Maybe, maybe not," the scholar responded. "I've mostly kept my eyes on my books or my partner."

"She a looker?" the ranger asked, prompting the scholar to shake his head.

"_He's_ a minstrel," the scholar said.

"So he gets into trouble a lot?"

"Not as much as I do. But do you think you can lead me to the third floor?" the scholar asked, a bit hurriedly.

"Sure, not a problem." The ranger stroked the warg's head. "Think you can leads us back over to the exit?"

The warg nodded its head, then it began to stick its nose everywhere, determining which way to go before it began walking. It looked back at the ranger and scholar and motioned with its head to follow it, so the two did.

"My warg is very loyal, and very smart," the ranger said. "Sometimes a little _too_ smart. I haven't exactly had a lot of practice yet in controlling a warg, but luckily, he's pretty compliant."

"I never did like wolves," the scholar said. "I mean, nothing against your warg, but the wild wolves. . ." The scholar shook his head a bit, remembering a time when he once got chased by at least a dozen wolves.

"I hear ya. I've been through the same ordeal."

The warg glanced back at 'em and let out a bark before it turned its eyes back onto the path.

"See, even he doesn't like those wolves," the ranger said with a chuckle. "But at least they aren't desert wolves."

"Those things are. . . hostile," the scholar simply said. He had been to where the desert wolves lived, and it wasn't exactly fun.

"That's an understatement," the ranger responded. "Hey, we're here." The three stopped before a mine track. "Well, kind of. You just have to walk on that mine track and follow it to the third floor."

"Is that. . . stable?" The scholar peered through the wooden bars to the inky blackness below. It looked like quite a drop.

"Trust me, it is." As if to prove his point, the ranger hopped onto the mine track and actually ran on it, following its path before disappearing from sight as he continued running.

"Hey, wait!" the scholar cried out and followed, the warg following him right behind.

"What if you fell?" the scholar asked as he caught up with the ranger.

"But I didn't. See?" The ranger looked around. "You made it, too. This is the third floor. Careful of the mysts, but then again, you should be strong enough to handle 'em without a problem."

The scholar glanced around, realizing the ranger was right; they made it pretty safely, and he could see the faint indigo of the mysts, along with the whistling of giearths and the creaking of the skel workers.

"Well, thanks," the scholar said, then glanced at a piece of paper he took out. "I should be going now, I need to go and communicate with the spirits. Thank you." The scholar began on his way, looking around for the place where he would begin communicating.

"No prob," the ranger said. "Good luck, once again." With that, the ranger took his warg and headed back up onto the second floor.

It took a few minutes of wandering around, but the scholar finally found it. "It" was actually a staff-like object that stuck out of the ground. It was made of a strange metal that the scholar couldn't quite place, but he could sense a strange energy emanating from it.

As he approached the staff, the scholar took out a few green spheres, Green Lives, held them out in front of him and closed his eyes. He thought he heard a faint whispering, maybe a slight breeze or a small scattering of rocks. The scholar concentrated as hard as he could, trying to expand his mind and search for the spirit he sought to find.

_Please, hear me_, the scholar said in his head. He lifted his face slightly, as if to catch a cooling breeze before everything went silent.

For a few minutes, the scholar stayed standing until he dared to peek open his eyes.

Nothing.

The Green Lives were gone. Not even a trace remained.

Feeling slightly dejected, the scholar took out a few more green orbs and repeated his process.

Again and again he tried, again and again he failed. This was proving to be harder than the scholar had originally thought.

_Maybe I should have done less reading and tried to pay more attention to the spirits and the world around me_, the scholar thought as he tried again for the thirteenth time. Even his attempts back at the Ice Caves didn't take as long, but maybe it was due to his strong affiliation with water and ice.

This time, instead of empty air in his hand, he felt something slim and smooth in his hand that had a slight, changing weight.

The scholar opened his eyes just a slit, in case his mind was playing tricks on him.

It wasn't.

In his hand was a slim vial that contained red liquid; a red reagent. Which meant he only needed one more reagent; the clear one.

The scholar hadn't spent that long in the Ice Caves for only one reason; he ran out of Crystal Blues. And now he had to continue to attempt to communicate with the spirits here in hopes that he could obtain a clear reagent and prove himself worth of becoming a sorcerer.

And so he began again.

Maybe he was blessed by Odin, or maybe he was just lucky, but this time the scholar obtained the clear reagent in less tries than the red one.

"I'm done," the scholar murmured, the realization of it still sinking in. "I'm done!" he cried out in joy. "I finally. . ." A small realization hit him; if he couldn't get out of here, he wouldn't be able to become a sorcerer. Then again, this place wasn't that dangerous. Anything that ran into his firewall died after only a few pathetic attempts to break through. However, there was _one_ thing that would impede his progress.

"I'm gonna get lost again." The scholar groaned softly, wishing he brought some fly wings, or even a butterfly wing. But if he had brought butterfly wings, he would be leaving the minstrel behind, and the scholar had promised he'd come back out.

There was only one thing to do, and that was to just walk out and hope he didn't get lost. There was something he could do, however; follow a wall.

Hadn't the scholar heard or read somewhere that if you just follow a wall, you were bound to find your way out eventually? Well, it made sense to him, so he decided to try that.

However, at the entrance to the second floor from the third floor, there was some figure standing there, looking around. Due to the dim lighting, it was very hard to tell who or what it was. It didn't look like one of the monsters normally found here, so maybe someone had broken a dead branch here?

Deciding not to take any chances, the scholar began preparing a few bolts of fire to send at the figure. However, the figure apparently noticed the fire and began to approach. The scholar walked back a bit slowly as the spell continued, but just before he was about to send out the bolts, a voice cried out.

"Are you trying to kill me?" The voice was familiar. _Very_ familiar.

The scholar quickly canceled out his spell, and just in time, too.

"Is. . . it you?" the scholar asked warily. He then felt something hard hit him on the side of his head. "Ow!"

"Of _course_ it's me, who else would it be?"

The scholar looked up to see the scowling face of the minstrel, whom he had left back at the entrance of the mines.

"W-Why'd you follow me?" The scholar rubbed the side of his head tenderly. "And that _hurt_, you know!"

"Your bolts hurt worse than my guitar!" the minstrel cried. "And I was worried about you, and you left your teleport clip with me." He held out the purple-and-white accessory, a little scratched and beaten from its use.

The scholar stared at the clip for a second before he grabbed it. "I forgot about this."

"I figured you were gonna get lost, and then I saw your clip," the minstrel explained, " so I decided to come find you."

"Thanks," the scholar mumbled as he stood up warily. His head spun a bit from the force of the attack, and he had to hold onto the minstrel before he fell over.

"You hith me thoo hahd," the scholar said into the minstrel's shirt, the words muffled by the cloth.

"Don't be a wimp," the minstrel grumbled as he helped up his partner. "Sit down for awhile, this place isn't that bad, so just rest a bit." The minstrel sat down, motioning for his friend to sit down next to him.

The scholar took his friend's advice and sat down next to the minstrel, leaning on the minstrel's shoulder before closing his eyes.

"Don't fall asl-" the minstrel began, before he heard the slight snores of his friend, so he simply sighed.

As the scholar slept, the minstrel relaxed, knowing the monsters here didn't require much effort to kill. Just a few arrows and they were done. Meanwhile, the scholar just kept sleeping.

An hour or two passed before the scholar stirred. "Ow."

"Finally awake?" the minstrel grumbled as he tuned his guitar. At least, that's what the scholar thought the minstrel was doing. The scholar was, for some reason, looking up at the minstrel from below, underneath the guitar. There was also something soft cushioning his head.

"Uh?" the scholar rolled over a bit and tried to stand up. He wasn't so dizzy this time, at least, though sleep was still trying to keep the scholar in its grasp. Looking down at the minstrel, he realized what was up with his view of the minstrel.

"You're warm," the scholar noted with a smile.

"Shaddup and let's get out of here and back to Geffen." The minstrel used his instrument to help him stand up.

Still grinning, the scholar added, "So how long have I been sleeping in your lap?"

"Ten minutes," the minstrel answered blandly. "Also, your head's a good place to rest my instrument on."

At that remark, the scholar rubbed his face. He couldn't really feel any impressions the instrument would've left. "Heeeey." The scholar turned to the minstrel, ready to make another remark, but noticed that his friend had already began moving back to the maze of walls and gates.

"Hey!" the scholar cried out before running after the minstrel. No way was he gonna get himself lost here.

Luckily, the minstrel was good at navigating mazes, and before long, the two were back outside.

After being in the dark for so long, the bright afternoon sun was a bit blinding.

"My eyes," the scholar groaned in mock pain as he covered his eyes. Then he felt a hand grab onto the front of his shirt and pull him along.

"Hey!" the scholar said for the third time.

"I wanna get back to Geffen before the sun sets," the minstrel explained. "I took up an offer to play a few songs at a tavern in Geffen and I don't want to be late."

The scholar said nothing as he picked up the pace and walked along with the minstrel, who let go.

The duo made it back to Geffen before the sun had touched the horizon, and the two were standing in front of the Geffen Tower.

"Well, have fun," the minstrel said as he glanced at his partner. When the minstrel saw his partner again, he would be different. Even though the scholar would still be, well, the same person, he would be a sorcerer instead.

"Don't look that way, I'll still be me." The scholar smiled warmly at his friend, who smiled back in return.

"I know." The minstrel looked away slightly, then back at the scholar. "I'll meet you back at our room tonight, I guess."

"Okay." The scholar looked at the tower again. "Bye."

"Bye."

–

The soft strumming of the guitar reverberated throughout the room as the minstrel played his guitar. His voice rang out harmoniously, blending perfectly together with his guitar. The song was about a tale of one who lost something precious to him. There was a hint of sadness, yet joy in the song, which soon became dominated by sadness. It may have been a reflection of the minstrel's feelings, but to the patrons of the tavern, it was just a song, a beautiful song.

Soon the song was over, and the minstrel smiled as he said, "Does anyone have a request?"

A hand raised up at the question. "I'd like to hear your song associated with Magic Strings."

The minstrel looked up at the question and looked around for who had made the request. He saw a black collar that resembled black fur, and a lot of white and red. One thing that stuck out though, were the detached sleeves. They were white with a red, waving pattern, but they so similar to the scholar's detached sleeves.

"An Overture," the minstrel said. "Of course."

And he began to play the requested song that the sorcerer, previously a scholar, had made.


End file.
